This picture has been up in every home I’ve had since it was taken more than a decade ago at my friend Alexis’ wedding.

After flying to Kansas with my friend Diane, we wandered around the airport looking for our ride. Two white people passed us twice before we asked if they were there to pick anyone up. They said yes then uttered our names. We all laughed as we realized Alexis forgot to tell them we were black.

To Alexis our color didn’t matter. We were just her friends; an extension of her family. And, her parents treated us that way too whether we were at their home or doing the chicken Polka at Alexis’ wedding reception.

At the reception, Alexis’ father danced alone to a song with Spanish lyrics holding a can of beer. I suppose it reminded him of his culture and his native country, Venezuela. He was full of life, happy and free. This is the memory flooded back to me when I looked at this photo after Alexis’ husband told me of his sudden death.

I want to be with my “family” as they deal with their grief, I thought as I began looking up flights. Nearly every option was 6-7 hundred dollars; more than I could spare after paying medical bill payments.

I’m not going to be there for Alexis in her time of need, I thought. All I can do is send my love and pray for them.

I dreaded sending her the text to say I wouldn’t make it. But, I did and I got an immediate responding saying, “I know she’s here in thoughts and prayers. We’ll come visit sometime this summer. Love her. Hugs and kisses”

Read days 1-16 here:
https://nikabeamon.com

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